Chapter 5
I stare at Alessio's boot hovering over the crypto wallet, my heart slamming into my throat. The thought of losing everything—all that evidence, all those lives—makes my stomach twist into knots. I twist my mother's ring frantically, the thin band chafing my skin.
"It's not a simple USB," I say, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. "It's a crypto wallet."
His eyebrow lifts, interest flickering across his face. "Cryptocurrency? That's what this is about? You stole money?"
"No—yes—it's not that simple." My words tumble out in a desperate rush. "The wallet contains cryptocurrency worth hundreds of millions but that's not why I took it."
He shifts his weight slightly, easing the pressure on the device but keeping his foot positioned. "I'm still waiting for a reason not to crush this thing."
"Raymond and my father..." I swallow hard, the words bitter on my tongue. "They're running an organ harvesting operation. Human trafficking. The wallet contains all the transaction records, buyer information, victim data—everything stored on a private blockchain."
His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes darkens. "And you expect me to believe Antonio Lombardi's precious daughter just discovered this?"
" I found it last night in Raymond's study." I stop, realizing how naive I'll sound. "I was looking for anything I could use to convince my father the marriage was a mistake. What I found instead was proof they've been selling people for parts."
Alessio's jaw tightens. "So you copied his files?"
"No. I took the actual wallet." I can't keep the triumph from my voice.
"I used a backdoor in his network security to bypass the biometric lock.
That's why I was running," I continue, my voice steadier now.
"Not because I don't love Raymond—although I don't—but because I found out what he really is. What my father is."
Alessio studies me, his expression unreadable. I have no idea whether he believes me or if the Ferettis are involved in similar operations. His world, like my father's, exists outside normal laws and ethics. But I need him to understand what's at stake.
"I only managed to hack one file because I didn't have time. But it was enough to make me run," I say quietly. "Dates. Names. Age. Medical data. Hundreds of victims. Children." My voice breaks on the last word. "I can't let that evidence be destroyed. Those people deserve justice."
I meet his gaze directly, dropping all pretense. "You can turn me in for the thirty million if you want. But please don't destroy that wallet. It's the only proof."
I examine Alessio's face, searching for any sign that he believes me. His dark eyes reveal nothing as he stares back. After what feels like forever, he finally removes his foot from above the crypto wallet.
"If what you're saying is true..." He bends down and picks up the device, turning it over in his hand. "How did you manage to bypass military-grade security just like that? These things are designed to be impossible to crack without the right fingerprint."
"I studied Computer Science in London," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the relief flooding through me that he's not threatening to destroy the evidence.
Alessio lets out a short laugh. "I already know that. Your father made sure everyone knew about his daughter's prestigious education." His eyes narrow. "What I didn't know is that you have these kinds of skills. Hacking into encrypted devices isn't exactly part of the standard curriculum."
"No one truly knows," I say. "Not my father, not Raymond, not even my brother. They all thought I was studying the basics—enough to sound impressive at dinner parties but nothing actually useful. I pretended that I couldn't understand anything serious."
"But you do?"
"I found the right teachers," I say carefully. "People who understand that cybersecurity isn't just about defense. You can't truly protect systems unless you know how to break into them."
Alessio studies me with new interest, his gaze more penetrating than before. "So Antonio Lombardi's perfect princess daughter has been living a double life."
"Not a double life," I correct him. "Just with parts of myself I kept private. We all have secrets."
I swallow hard, watching Alessio's face as he processes what I've told him. His expression gives away nothing—a skill that must serve him well in his line of work. The silence stretches between us, racked with tension.
"What was your plan?" he finally asks. "After you’d escaped with this." He holds up the crypto wallet.
"I would have gone somewhere safe to decrypt the rest of the files," I explain. "Then anonymously release everything to multiple law enforcement agencies and news outlets simultaneously. So many that they couldn't all be silenced."
Alessio stares at the USB as he considers this.
"I've answered all your questions," I say, straightening my spine. "Now it's time for you to give me back that device."
His eyes meet mine, something dangerous flickering in their depths. He holds up the crypto wallet between his thumb and forefinger, dangling it like bait.
"Come and get it," he says, his tone a challenge.
I hesitate for only a second before lunging forward in a swift motion. My fingers stretch for the device but Alessio raises his arm high above his head. My momentum carries me forward until I crash against his chest, the solid wall of him not budging an inch from the impact.
I would have stumbled backward if not for his other arm wrapping around my waist, steadying me.
Heat radiates from his body as his hand splays across my lower back, holding me firmly against him, caught between his wide outstretched thighs.
I'm brutally aware of how much larger he is, how easily he dominates the situation.
I lift my head slowly, finding his face inches from mine. His dark eyes bore into me, his expression unreadable but deadly intense. My breath catches in my throat as we lie frozen.
"This USB belongs to me now," he says, in a low rumble I can feel reverberate through his chest.
" Vafanculo ," I curse, glaring directly into his eyes. The Italian profanity slips out before I can stop it.
A flicker of something—amusement?—crosses his face before disappearing. I push away from him, breaking free of his grip, and rush at my bag lying on the ground. If I can't have the USB, I at least want my other belongings.
Alessio doesn't try to stop me. He simply watches as I grab the bag and unzip it frantically.
Empty. Nothing but the lining stares back at me.
I watch her expression transform as she stares into the empty bag—shock, then disbelief, then a flash of raw panic that she quickly tries to mask. Her fingers grapple the fabric.
"Where are my things?" Her voice remains taut but I catch the slight tremor beneath her composure.
I slip the USB into my pocket, the weight of it suddenly significant. This small device contains evidence that could bring down two powerful families—including her own father. The implications are still sinking in. Human trafficking. Organ harvesting. Hundreds of victims.
Melania looks up at me, those amber eyes hardening with determination despite her vulnerable position.
"What happens now?" she asks.
The question hangs between us. What happens now? I don't have a clear answer. Damiano needs to know about this hardware wallet, about what Antonio and Raymond are really involved in. This changes everything—our strategies, our leverage, possibly even our objectives.
I don't answer her question. Instead, I turn away, my mind already ploughing through the implications, the necessary calls, the security precautions we'll need to take. Antonio Lombardi's desperation to find his daughter makes perfect sense now—it's not about family loyalty but self-preservation.
I reach the door and pause, feeling her eyes on my back. For a moment I consider saying something—about protection, about what this information means, about what comes next—but I decide against it. Better to consult with Damiano first.
I step through the door and lock it behind me, the metallic click echoing in the hallway.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, running my thumb along my bottom lip as I consider our next move.
I stride down the corridor.
The control room is quiet when I enter, just the low hum of equipment and the blue glow from multiple screens. On one monitor I see Melania pacing her room, her shoulders rigid, hands scraping through her hair.
I pull out my phone and dial Damiano. Despite the hour he answers on the second ring.
"Tell me," he says, his voice alert.
"We have a situation," I say, keeping my eyes on Melania's monitor. "That USB drive she was carrying? It contains evidence of human trafficking and organ harvesting. Antonio and Raymond Stone are running the operation together."
Silence stretches across the line for several seconds.
"You've verified this?" Damiano finally asks.
"No. It's locked with military-grade encryption and fingerprint access. But she offered me thirty million to get it back."
Damiano exhales heavily. "This explains a lot. How's our guest?"
I glance at the monitor where Melania is now sitting on the edge of the bed, her posture erect. "Holding it together. Better than expected."
"I need to see what's on that drive," Damiano says.
"That's the problem. We can't access it without her. It needs her skills to bypass encryption."
On the screen Melania finally lies down, though I can tell she's nowhere near sleep.
"How are things on your end?" I ask.
"Complicated," Damiano admits. "Moving Zoe, Sofia and Lucrezia to Italy wasn't easy.
Daniel's with them, plus a couple of men I trust. Zoe's pregnant again as you know so I can't let this war I've started touch them.
If what you're saying about Antonio and Stone is true, they'll be even more dangerous than we anticipated. "
"So what's the play?"
Damiano is quiet for a moment. "I need to think this through carefully. This changes our approach. I'll call you back."
"Understood," I say, ending the call.
I turn back to the monitor, watching Melania stare at the ceiling. Neither of us will be sleeping tonight.
Something else nags at me though.
Antonio's men will have found the abandoned car by now. The driver I left locked in the trunk will have told them everything—that Melania hired him to drive her away from her wedding.
"Fuck," I mutter.
This changes things. Antonio knows his daughter was trying to escape. That's why he hasn't moved against the Feretti estate yet—where Damiano waits for them with so many men they could start World War III. He can't be certain she was kidnapped rather than simply running away.
I pace the control room, thinking through the implications.
This uncertainty gives us an advantage—breathing room we didn't expect.
If Antonio believed without doubt that we had taken his daughter, he would have already launched an all-out assault.
Instead he's hesitating, probably questioning whether Melania ran of her own accord.
I pull out my phone and text Damiano: Driver Melania hired will have talked by now. Antonio knows she planned to run. That's why they haven't moved against us yet .
His response comes back quickly: I know. The game has changed. Get some rest. You'll need it.
I glance at the monitor where Melania lies motionless on the bed, eyes still open, staring up. She's calculating her next move, just as I am. But she will eventually sleep. I won't.
I head to the kitchen, needing something to take the edge off. Not enough to dull my senses—I never allow that—but enough to ease the tension coiling in my back.
The kitchen is silent, bathed in shadows broken only by the dim light above the stove. I open the cabinet where yesterday I stored a bottle of Macallan 25. The amber liquid catches what little light remains as I pour a finger's worth into a crystal tumbler.
The first sip burns perfectly, warming my throat as I roll the complex flavors across my tongue. Smoke, dried fruits, and a hint of sherry from the casks. It's a ritual that grounds me.
I don't gulp it down. Men who can't savor good scotch can't be trusted with anything of value. I take my time, letting the liquor breathe between sips.
I grab the bottle and glass, then make my way back to the control room. The blue glow of the monitors welcomes me back, casting everything in a frigid light. Melania hasn't moved, still staring at the ceiling, though her eyes occasionally droop now.
I settle into my chair, placing the tumbler on the desk beside the keyboard. The scotch catches the light from the monitors, glowing like molten gold.
Tonight will be a long one. Tomorrow longer still. But for now I have this moment of quiet, this glass of excellent scotch, and a puzzle to solve.